Complete Works of Emile Zola (86 page)

“I asked you a stupid question a little time ago,” he said to the Count, with some bitterness. “I asked you if you were one of us. I forgot that you could only be here out of curiosity. You have come to see if the people know how to die. Well! I think you’ll be satisfied with them.”

The Republican had drawn himself up, and pointed out to the nobleman the burning, active crowd of workmen.

“Look at them,” he resumed. “There is the flock your fathers sheared, and branded with a red-hot iron. For the third time in sixty years the flock is getting angry. I predict to you, that it will end by eating up the shepherds. Instead of urging it on to revolt, it would have been better to have given it liberty, and bread, which it requires to live. All the energies it is expending at this hour, in raising barricades, would then have been devoted to useful labour.”

M. de Girousse no longer jeered. He had become grave. Philippe continued with violence:

“Your place is not here. You have come amidst our barricades as the patricians of ancient Rome went to the arena to see slaves die. Ah! notwithstanding your goodness, cruel blood runs in your veins. You are pestered with the curiosity of the wearied master; I see it, and our insurrection, this insurrection which will cause us tears, is merely a show for you. Believe me, you will do better to go away. We are not actors, we have no need of the pit.”

The old Count had turned pale. He remained for an instant motionless; then, as Philippe stooped down to take up his barrel, he said to him in a peaceful tone.”

“My friend, will you allow me to help you?”

He grasped the barrel at one end, and Republican and Legitimist carried it together to the barricade and threw it down there.

“The deuce!” said M. de Girousse, “it wasn’t heavy, but my sabre inconvenienced me considerably.”

He rubbed his hands to get rid of the dust, and found himself face to face with Marius. After the first words of surprise, he resumed, smiling:

“Your brother has just been advising me to go away. He is right, I am only an inquisitive old fellow. I wish you would hide me somewhere.”

Marius took him into the house where Fine and Joseph were, and the Count made himself comfortable on the third floor landing, at a window facing the square. What Philippe had said to him had made him profoundly sad.

Marius had merely come down to beg his brother to go and comfort Fine and the child, who were half dead with fright. He returned, after Philippe had promised to rejoin him. The latter wished particularly to take a look round the square. The six barricades were completed; at least, the rioters, being unable to find any more material, had renounced building them any higher. A heavy silence began to reign among the crowd, and the workmen seated themselves on the ground, resting while awaiting events. It was easy to see, from the lowered tone of voice, that the moment of the struggle was approaching.

What annoyed Philippe, was that there were so few efficient arms in the hands of the combatants. Fifty of them at the most had muskets. Some of the others carried sticks, billiard cues evidently stolen in the cafés; a great number of those who were without muskets were provided with curious kinds of weapons that had come from the shops of the second-hand dealers. Some had spits, old lances and sabres; others simply iron bars. Around the fountain which stood in the centre of the square, were a dozen workmen or so, sharpening their rusty blades on the cold stones of the basin. Cartridges also were few in number. There were at the most a hundred or two taken from the ammunition pouches of the National Guards who had been disarmed.

Philippe understood that the barricades could not resist long, but he was determined not to discourage anyone by showing his anxiety. He confined himself to advising them to occupy the houses adjoining the barricades, in the hope that the assailants would retire if a shower of projectiles were cast on them from the roofs and windows.

Several houses had already been invaded. The rioters hammered at the doors of the lodgings they wished to occupy, threatening to break them in if they were not opened. Then, they insisted on having the keys of the doors leading to the flat roofs, and made every window a loophole, and every roof a stronghold. They laboured solely, for nearly half an hour, carrying stones up into the houses. Once above, they tore away and broke up the tiles, and incumbered the tops of the dwellings with rubbish, which they intended throwing on the soldiers’ heads.

When Philippe was satisfied that all the arrangements had been completed, he decided to rejoin his brother. He had placed himself at the head of the men who were to occupy the house where Marius had hidden Fine and Joseph. This house was at the corner of the Grande Rue, and the Place aux Œufs, on the right, coming from the Cours. Philippe foresaw that the barricade in the Grande Rue would be the most vigorously attacked, and he was not without uneasiness as to the danger that would be incurred by the persons who had sought refuge there, and who would be in the midst of the fighting.

He only allowed the most devoted men to enter the building, and made them vow to defend the door to their last breath. After having placed them on the roof and at the windows, he returned to the landing on the third story, where he found M. de Girousse who pointed out a door to him and simply said:

“They’re expecting you.”

Whilst Philippe had been settling all this, Mathéus had ascended the steps of the house which was on the other side of the square. He had seen the Republican at the windows, and his quiet, rascally smile returned like a grimace to his lips.

CHAPTER XVII

WHAT MATHÉUS, THE FORESEER, DID NOT FORESEE

THE interview was short and touching. Philippe took little Joseph for a moment on his knees, and felt quite affected.

“I entrust him to you,” he said to Fine and Marius. “I shall, perhaps, never see him again, but I know he will always have a father and mother.”

Marius remained silent. He understood that his brother imagined he was performing a duty, and he did not say one word to retain him. Fine had great tears bulging out of her eyes.

Philippe seemed to be making an effort to tear himself away from the room which appeared full of mute despair. He wished to escape the cowardly feeling of tenderness that was gaining possession of him. He gave his son a last kiss, and placed him on Fine’s knees.

Then, walking feverishly, as if to stir up his thoughts, he moved towards the window facing the Grande Rue, and after casting a look outside, turned towards the young woman and said:

“You mustn’t remain on that chair. Come and sit here, away from the window. The bullets might enter there.”

He stopped, and could not stifle a cry that rose to his lips.

“Ah! War is a terrible thing! I have wished for it with all my strength, and behold, it places those I love in jeopardy.”

His head fell on his hand in despair. He was on the point of bursting into nervous sobbing, when moving towards the door, he continued in a brutal tone:

“Are you coming, Marius?”

Then on the threshold, he bid a last adieu to Fine and Joseph, who watched him depart. At that moment he and his brother thought no more of M. de Cazalis; and any idea of a surprise was far from their minds. They simply feared that the young woman and child might be subjected to brutal treatment by the rioters and soldiers amidst the disturbance.

On the landing, they found M. de Girousse who appeared to be hiding beside the window, and watching attentively.

“I say, do you know that villainous creature over there?” he inquired of them.

And he pointed with his finger to Mathéus, who was standing on the other side of the square.

“I’ve been following his movements for the last half hour,” continued the Count. “He has not ceased watching this house. Assuredly he must be actuated by some evil design.”

The two brothers looked in the direction he indicated.

“Is it the man with the red hair?” inquired Marius.

“Precisely,” answered the Count. “I detest red-haired people. But then, I have a particularly good scent for detecting rascals. That one has evil-looking eyes, and a quiet smile that predicts nothing good.”

“But,” said Philippe, “I know the man. He’s a violent democrat. I remember having heard him deliver incendiary speeches in the clubs. I never thoroughly examined him, but I confess I always had a kind of repugnance for him. Look, he’s staring this way again.”

The young man was seized with vague mistrust. He fancied Mathéus might, perhaps, be an instigating agent of the authorities, one of those traitors who glide in among the democrats, and lead them on to extremities, so as to hand them over to the police afterwards.

Marius had other fears to which he did not dare give utterance.

“Come,” he said to Philippe, “we must find out why that man is watching the house in that way.”

They went down and mixed with the crowd, and while feigning not to pay attention to Mathéus, took care not to lose sight of him. They walked about the square in this way for ten minutes, without relaxing their supervision. Mathéus, in the meanwhile, was spoiling all his beautiful calculations by being over confident. He had so correctly foreseen each event, everything had succeeded so well with him up to then, that he felt sure of victory. He thought he had already triumphed, and omitted his customary prudence, imagining that in the scrimmage, everyone had lost his head, and nobody was paying the least attention to him.

When he perceived the two brothers, he ceased examining the house, and assumed a happy-go-lucky air. He cast down his head, and seemed lost in deep thought. Then Marius and Philippe saw him leave the steps, and wander among the crowd, looking very perplexed. In truth, he was thinking if he ought not to go and steal the child then, before the outbreak, so as to avoid compromising himself, by remaining any longer amidst the barricades. It was only a question of getting rid of Fine and that did not trouble him much; he would use a gag, he thought, and if absolutely necessary, a knife. What really worried him, and gave him an air of such profound thought, was that horrid carroty wig, which up to then had served him as a flag, but which he now wished to get rid of at any price.

He said to himself rightly, that it nailed him to his post, deprived him of his liberty of action: he could never carry a child off in his arms, so long as he remained “the man with the carroty hair” as they called him, the impetuous Tribune who had spoken on one occasion of reducing Marseille to ashes.

Mathéus walked about for a long time, without being able to make up his mind as to what he would do. He understood all the gravity of a change of physiognomy. Now, when Philippe and Marius noticed the sly glances he was casting around him, they felt certain M. de Girousse was not wrong. All at once he made a movement like a man taking a resolution, and advancing towards the door of one of the houses on the square, entered it after looking round to see that no one was spying him. A few minutes later, the two brothers, who had kept their eyes fixed on the door of the house, saw a person make his appearance there who was slightly bald and wore the same attire as the man with the carroty wig. Philippe repressed a cry of rage. He had recognised Mathéus at a glance.

“Ah! the wretch!” he muttered in a choking voice to his brother, “he’s the
fidus Achates
of Cazalis, the man who tried to steal Joseph at Ayasse’s.”

“I suspect some foul play,” murmured Marius, who had turned pale.

“I see it all now! it was that cursed red hair that led me astray; I felt I knew the man, but I only saw him at night, and couldn’t remember who he was.”

Marius interrupted his brother.

“Every minute is precious,” he said. “Cazalis must be there in the dark. He has set one of his creatures to dog your foot-steps so as to ruin you, and at the climax, has sent this wretch here to get possession of Joseph. I don’t understand how it has all been done; however, we must first of all get rid of this man. We’ll decide on further action afterwards.”

Philippe, dumbfounded at the thought of all the misfortunes he had brought about, remained silent.

“You understand,” continued Marius, “we cannot have him arrested by accusing him of an abduction he has not yet committed. And besides, we would find nobody here to seize him by the collar.”

“You are mistaken,” said the Republican, whose eyes suddenly sparkled. “I have an idea. Wait a minute.”

Philippe ran towards a party of workmen, who were entirely devoted to him, spoke to them in an undertone for a few moments, and returning to Marius said:

“Look, our man is already caught in the trap.”

The workmen had dispersed; then, one by one, they had manoeuvred so as to surround Mathéus, while the latter, suspecting nothing, was strolling about with the air of a placid bourgeois.

“You go home,” said one of the workmen to him in a brutal tone.

“Wait,” observed another, “this citizen is not unknown to me.”

“Eh!” exclaimed a third, “what have you done with your carroty wig?”

“He’s a false brother! he’s a false brother!” shouted all the party.

This cry ran all over the square. A gathering was formed and in the midst of it Mathéus was violently hustled. A rioter searched him, and the red wig which was found in one of his pockets, was passed from hand to hand as a proof of guilt. They spoke of nothing less than hanging the wretch, for all who remembered the part he had played, shouted out that he was an instigating agent, a creature of the police, and that they must make an example of him, by stringing him up to the nearest lantern.

Mathéus trembled with fright. There was no reasoning within him at that moment, and he was not a bit surprised when he saw Philippe, of all people in the world, advance to his assistance.

“Come, my friends,” said the latter to the angry workmen, “don’t dirty your hands by killing the man. It will suffice to keep him within sight. He might be useful to us later on. Only, if he attempts to run away, send a bullet into his back.”

By the young man’s order two workmen caught hold of the wretch, and shut him up in a little shop, one of them standing on guard at the door with a loaded musket.